


Everything Was Fine

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 07:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13946529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: Nathan Burgoine's March flash fiction challenge--which was coincidentally was randomly drawn on his birthday--was issued here: https://twitter.com/NathanBurgoine/status/970721717512318976The genre: romanceThe object: VHS tapeThe place: fire towerThe limit: one thousand wordsThe following story is, perhaps, more angst than romance but the story wants what the story wants. I cried writing it but I hope you enjoy it anyway.Other stories are posted here: https://apostrophen.wordpress.com/2018/03/12/where-there-was-smoke-a-flash-fiction-draw-challenge/





	Everything Was Fine

Trent gauged how many of the steel-tread stairs remained ahead, then hurried upward since the crunch of his Timberlands on virgin snow was barely audible over the pierce of wind. A snowflake caught his eyelash. He blinked. And when he twisted to clear his sight, he knocked his shoulder against the central pole of the spiral staircase, practically losing his grip on his bags. In his mind's eye, he watched with horror as their contents bounced down to the ground. The only food for miles would have landed, broken and inedible.

Just because it could have happened, didn’t mean it did.

Everything was fine.

Trent was fine.

The cliff side fire tower had been restored by his family as a wedding present. This was his first time back. Coming here this particular week felt like pinching down a paper cut. The sting of it inevitable and satisfying. Even so, solitude would be welcome. He took a deep breath and continued his climb until the scent of burning resin sent him rushing up the last dozen stairs.  “No,” he muttered, fumbling with the lock that was too cold to indicate fire licking up the other side of the door. Still, he continued. “No, no, no, no, no.” 

Once the door opened, no flames met him save one—his ex.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

Jason looked up and said nothing. He continued to say nothing as he closed the grate over the fireplace. Nothing as he tilted back on his toes to stand. Nothing as he walked over in thick wool socks, taking the bags from Trent’s hand, setting the groceries on the table they'd built from reclaimed wood. An ancient VCR whirred behind Jason and even with the television sound off, Trent knew what was playing. The label on the tape cover was written today's date with a different year.

“Why aren't you answering? Why are you here?” Trent’s demand seemed to emanate from across the room.

Trent’s eyes landed on the pie on the counter next to the oven. Spiced cherry, his favorite.

Jason’s eyes were bloodshot, probably irritated from the smoke in the fireplace. Or, maybe not. The flannel jacket pulled taut across Jason’s shoulders, skewing the black plaid away from the neat lines it should have made over the red background. Finally, he looked up and said, “I’ve been here every year. Where were you?”

Trent shoved down his response. That was another life. He’d been a totally different person.

The two of them stood. Accusations flew back and forth despite the lack of speech. Jason spoke next. “So...you did it.”

Trent didn’t know what to say so he replied, “Yeah.”

“Looks good on you.” The four words shouldn’t have been voiced. They opened the door to the possibility, the niggling feeling, that the very necessary act of leaving might have been… well, not a mistake, exactly.

Trent wished there had been another way.It wasn’t like he wanted to leave. At the same time, he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t even talk about how it felt in his own skin. That was on him. Totally. Absolutely. Regardless, when he left, he left. They were officially history, no matter what paperwork remained in place.

Photos of their past sprinkled the room. Corsages at their prom. Smiling while riding piggyback on the beach. His sister’s first baby.

That was the thing that scared the shit out of him. How could they not have talked about it before? The expectation of it all. Everyone took it for granted. The worst was when Jason’s mother cornering him on Christmas with photos of nurseries. “How cute are these dinosaurs? You aren’t really using that den, right? It would be the perfect place for Jason to make this into a mural. And, between us girls, I’ve already got a stash of baby clothes. You know, for when you’re ready.” 

When. Not if. 

“Babe, we’ll do what you want,” Jason declared. Trent wasn’t so sure. Not after seeing his husband with his niece. It would have been a shit move to string him along.

Granted, it was a lot shittier for Trent to have made the choice unilaterally, even if it did free up Jason to have a family with someone else.

It his head, it still made sense. Sort of.

Jason edged closer, his eyes roaming over Trent from boots to shoulders, settling on his chin. The tension between them ripped through the room. “It looks soft,” Jason said. “Can I…can I touch it?”

Of all things, that was what he wanted? No closure? No clarification? Trent shook his head at the thought and caught the hurt in Jason’s expression. That wasn’t what he meant to convey. “You really want to?”

“Yeah,” Jason said and licked his lips in the way he did when he felt uncertain.

“Okay,” Trent mouthed. He rooted his feet to the floor, determined to stand still. Even so, lover’s touch along his mustache was unexpected. Jason’s fingers outlined his lips and traced the cowlick at his lower left jaw that swirled, no matter the oil and frequency of combing used to tame it. Jason’s hand wrapped around his neck, eventually grabbing a fist of hair. Trent’s scalp burned in sharp contrast to the gentle touch of the forehead on his.  Jason hissed, “I’m so mad at you. Really. I’m so fucking…” 

A cry erupted out of the man as did the sheen of sweat across his stomach. When exactly had Trent slid his hand underneath Jason’s shirt? And where the hell did he get the nerve to do so?

They stood together, not moving until Jason calmed.

“Trent,” Jason with his hand still tangled in Trent's hair, uttered his spouse's new name for the first time. “I can wait. I just need to know it's possible. Tell me you’ll come back home. Please.”

Trent didn’t dare voice the thought that raced through his head. It was the one that said, "I'm already here."


End file.
